


besmeared with sluttish time

by Sullen



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Apologies to Shakespeare, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Do-Over, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Endgame, Time Travel Fix-It, i mean the one pleasure of an ending is the do-over fic, im just the first horse out of the stable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-08 20:04:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18630352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sullen/pseuds/Sullen
Summary: After the events of Endgame, Tony wakes up in New York on December 16th, 1991.





	besmeared with sluttish time

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING - ENDGAME SPOILERS

_“Not marble nor the gilded monuments_  
_Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme,_  
_But you shall shine more bright in these contents_  
_Than unswept stone, besmeared with sluttish time._  
_When wasteful war shall statues overturn_  
_And broils roots out the work of masonry,_  
_Nor mars his sword nor war's quick fire shall burn_  
_The living record of your memory._  
_'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity_  
_Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room_  
_Even in the eyes of all posterity_  
_That wear this world out to the ending doom._  
_So, till judgement that yourself arise,_  
_You in this, and dwell in lovers eyes.”_

― William Shakespeare, Sonnet 55

 

Tony woke up with a gasp, struggling against the covers. _Steve._ He had been looking at Steve. He had wanted one last look…

His hands shook, they looked young and raw. How? How had they healed him? Tony remembered the way Hulk’s arm looked after he had put on the gauntlet. He did a quick check, arms good, he threw aside the bedcovers and ran his hand down his legs, all good. Torso and back were also good. Just a little bit afraid, he stretched the waistband of his pants and let out a sigh of relief. All good.

Where was he? This wasn’t a hospital room. But it looked _really_ familiar.

He climbed out of bed. Or _tried_ to. His legs were like jelly, dammit. He knocked over half the bedside cabinet in the process. Well, that ought to get them to come running. He finally stood up and the decided he’d rather sit. He had just gingerly lowered himself to sit on the side of the bed when the door to the bedroom opened.

Tony looked up and felt a swoop of deja-vu. _I know you._ “Jarvis?”

“Sir. I see the jet lag hasn’t worn off yet.”

“What?” Tony said numbly. When…when did he give Jarvis a body? When did Jarvis get back? What was left of him had gone into Vision and Vision was dead. Had he replicated Jarvis from a backup? But there had been no backups. His head was killing him.

“When did you come back?” Tony asked. That’s it. Ask Jarvis himself. He’d explain everything.

“I never left, sir.” Well. That was helpful.

Tony looked at him disapprovingly. It was pretty hard, since the other man was setting down breakfast in a tray, opening the curtains to let light into the dim room and cleaning up the mess that Tony had left of the bedside table. In general, he was being efficient and competent while Tony could barely keep his balance whilst sitting.

Tony gave up the ghost and flopped on his back. He stared at the ceiling. He was forgetting something. “I’m forgetting something,” he announced.

“And what would that be Master Tony?” Jarvis asked.

Tony balanced on his elbows as he frowned at Jarvis. “When did I give you a body?”

Jarvis looked at him incredulously. “I sincerely hope that last night was jet lag and not…something else.”

Tony blinked up at him, suddenly he felt ridiculously young. Jarvis laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently. “Perhaps some breakfast will wake up that brain? Go brush your teeth, give your face a good wash and eat.”

“I’m not hungry.” Tony said. What the hell was going on? What was he forgetting? He had to do something, meet someone, but every time he tried to grasp a thought it slipped away from him. It was just out of reach, but he couldn’t get a grip on it. It was driving him crazy. With a sudden stab of fear, he wondered if he didn’t have dementia. It would explain the wobbliness of time, and his memory failure.

“Master Tony,” Jarvis said sternly, “are you saying that you are not going to eat the food that I specifically cooked for you?”

_I haven’t heard **that** tone in a long time. _ It was a good thing Tony never managed to programme that specific tone into J.A.R.V.I.S., he never would have gotten away with half the things he did.

“Young Master Tony,” Jarvis said in a no-nonsense tone. “Bathroom and breakfast, in that order and you can say goodbye to your parents. Perhaps take a nap on the couch before Mrs Maria leaves.”

There was a buzzing in his ears. Nothing’s making sense. “You’re malfunctioning.” Tony reproached Jarvis as he was herded to the bathroom.

Morgan. He needed to see his baby girl. Where was she?

He stumbled to the sink and picked up the toothbrush and squeezed some toothpaste on. This wasn’t his bathroom, but his hand found everything unerring as if everything was _familiar._

He finished brushing and sit out the paste and rinsed his mouth and checked in the mirror for toothpaste residue on his beard.

He didn’t have a beard.

That was not his face.

No, that _was_ his face.

From when he was a teenager.

There was a high-pitched sound coming from somewhere. But when he pressed his hand against his ears it only became magnified. _Oh, it’s coming from me._

He gradually became aware of a knocking on the door. It was Jarvis, asking if everything was fine. _No_ , he wanted to say, _nothing is fine. Nothing has been fine for a long time. I don’t think I was **ever** fine._

_Okay, what’s the last thing you remember?_ Tony asked himself. _The gauntlet, was that the last?_ His mind kept shying away from the memory. It was hard to recall, the sensations, the pain – it was like nothing he had faced before. A whole new range of senses had been woken by the stones and now it was gone. Like giving ears to a pigeon, or echolocation to a human, only magnified by a billion.

He hadn’t failed, he was…somewhat sure. Had something gone wrong? Was this the mind stone?

The mind stone, that had to be it. Right? Right.

Tony pressed his hand hard against his face. _Wake up. **Wake up.**_ He turned his head and almost banged his head against the sink. Somehow, he had crawled under the sink and wedged himself against a cabinet. _A fine place for Iron Man to hide,_ he observed sourly.

He rubbed his hands roughly against his head, messing up his hair. _You’re not going to fix anything from down here. Get up and find out what the hell’s going on here,_ he told himself.

He crawled out from his hidey hole and took a moment mourn his beard and sneer at his baby face. Once Jarvis saw him scarf down some food, he left. After he choked down as much as he could bear, Tony tried calling the suit to him. Nothing. He checked himself over again, but with different parameters in mind. He had no gauntlet wrist watch. No chest piece. No nanoparticles. Not even the implants he had embedded under his skin were there.

Tony tried to keep calm. He could make a new suit but he could not make a new daughter. Morgan…please let her be safe.

Thoughts of Morgan had distracted his mind while his body moved by itself, taking the same path they had decades ago. Tony cringed away from the bright sunlight shining through the windows. _I know this house. I walked through its halls for years. This is the Stark mansion in New York._

His feet, operating robotically, led him to the parlour. Here was something more familiar, the couch and the throw on the couch, the piano, and –

“Mom?” he croaked.

“Hello darling,” she said. “I hope the flight from Paris was good. I looked in on you when you got in last night but you were sleeping and I didn’t want to wake you. How is school?”

“Terrible,” he said, now and thirty years ago. “I hate learning mechanics in French.”

“Your French is very good, dear and not only for --”

“Seducing girls,” he finishes for her.

“You were supposed to be here two days ago.” She sat down at the piano and ran her fingers lightly over the keys. “We’re going to be leaving today you know.”

“Am I in the BARF?”

“What? If you’re feeling ill, lie down.”

_No,_ he wanted to say. _There’s more. I complain some more about being sent to the Sorbonne and about the light and the fact that the two of you are going away for Christmas. Though the last, I never say out loud and make only passive aggressive bitchy remarks._

He laid down on the couch. His mother played the piano. He pulled the throw over his head. _Ugh, I stink. No wonder dad calls me a hobo._

The darkness helped. He wasn’t in BARF. That was obvious now. _When you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth._ All right, lets Sherlock this.

He could be crazy. Cuckoo. Nah, pass.

Dementia? No, too sustained, too vivid. Time would tell.

Not BARF, already done that.

Did a time experiment go wrong and he’d let time flow through him like with Lang? No. he was too smart for that.

Had he screwed up when he snapped his fingers? Thanos and Bruce had done it with the thumb and first fingers, he had used his middle finger instead. He snickered a little to himself. No, _it had worked._ He remembered that much. The army had turned to dust and so had the Purple Dick. He remembered saying sorry to Pep, though he wasn't sure if he'd gotten all the words out.

The time stone?

Maria was singing _Try to remember_ which was all kinds of ironic when he heard footsteps approaching his head.

“Wake up dear and say goodbye to your father.”

A familiar hand lifted the throw off his head. “Who’s the homeless person on the couch?”

“This is why I love coming home for Christmas…right before you leave town,” Tony snarked on cue as he staggered to his feet.

“Be nice dear,” Maria said wearily. “He’s been studying abroad.”

“Really, which broad? What's her name?” asked Howard drily.

“Steve.”

His mother’s hand faltered on the piano and his father froze.

“What?” Howard asked.

“What?” Tony parroted. Oh shit. Why didn’t he say Pepper? Or Candice, which is what he said last time, or any other woman’s name. Oh, because he was trying to resist whatever hold time had on him which was subtly pushing him to do and say the same things he had the last time around. So no, he didn’t want to say Candice. But why a man’s name and why Steve’s?

“Steve?” his father asked incredulously.

“Steve. Very pretty girl.” Tony said innocently.

“It’s a very masculine name for a girl isn’t it?” Maria asked delicately.

“She’s a big fan of Captain America.”

Howard grunted. “Kids these days.” Now he knew why, he just wanted to piss his father off. Wow, that never went away did it?

“Do me a favour? Try not to burn the house down before Monday.”

Things were going back on track.

“Okay, so it's Monday. That is good to know. I will plan my toga party accordingly. Where you going?” He never did get to have that toga party.

“You father's flying us to the Bahamas for a little getaway.”

“We might have to make a quick stop.” Howard said.

A chill went down his spine. Was the Bahamas trip only an excuse? Had it been an excuse the whole time?

“At the Pentagon?” Tony’s tongue felt thick in his, like he was having an allergic reaction to the lines in this despicable play. “Don't worry, you're gonna love the holiday menu at the commissary.”

His mother sighed. Howard said, “You know, they say sarcasm is a metric for potential. If that's true, you'll be a great man someday. I'll get the bags.”

You have no idea. You have no idea how great I become. The things I succeed and the things I fail at. I am your greatest creation. I am Iron Man.

His mother got up from the piano and stood next to him. “He does miss you when you’re not here.” And kissed his cheek.

Last time, he had sullenly stayed silent. Or maybe said, _Yeah, right,_ under his breath. His father comes back with the bags.

This time – this time, whatever the hell this time is –

“I’m sorry dad,” Tony says. “Love you.”

“Maria, I think my ears have stopped working.”

“Howard,” Maria scolds unsurely.

“I’m serious,” Tony insists. He thinks back to the Howard he met in the 70s when he had been a fetus.

He doesn’t know what’s happening, maybe he is in BARF, and it gained some sort of sentience and this is all an illusion, maybe he hiccuped when he snapped his fingers, or he’s in a coma; he hasn’t even touched on the why, if there is a why, whatever is happening he doesn’t know if his actions will make a difference, this may not even be real, but he has to try. He has to. He’s Iron Man.

“I’m just going to miss you. You’re both going to be gone a week and come back only two days before Christmas. Hey – here’s an idea, why don’t I join you guys?”

**Author's Note:**

> Banged this out in a couple of hours, trying to get Endgame out of my system. No beta and barely any edits. Point out any mistakes you see.
> 
> [Tumblr Link for reblog!](https://sullen-defiance.tumblr.com/post/184506831478)


End file.
